Building Paradise
by NightOwlCC
Summary: Revamped former collaboration, the story is set after the final battle of the SK series. It involves two main OCs, a shaman and a spirit. The main focus is Hao, going through a change of mentality and attempting to fulfill his dream once again, though in a different way. It taps on the awakening movement. Herbal themed. Involves CanonxOC shipping. More details inside.
1. Part 1 - Unexpected Dawn

_**Disclaimer:** "Shaman King" and the canon characters are owned by Hiroyuki Takei. The authors do own the original characters involved, as well as this story as a writing and the interpretation of the canon characters._

 _ **Summary:** A compilation of moments, scenes, monologues and meditations of different characters, presented in first person and following a theme of herbal symbolism. It will include two main OCs or original characters, a shaman and a spirit, as well as the main cast of the Shaman King series._

 _ **Authors:** This story was initially meant as a collaboration, but it was left on hiatus after the prologue because of a lack of feedback lowering the motivation and interest of my co-author and I. Now, I have decided to adopt the story and move it to my account, no longer involving my co-author's OCs and scenes that had been sketched and planned before. This being said, reviews are loved, followers and favorites are very appreciated, and I am looking forward to hearing from you. Before the 'adoption', the story had 178 views, 3 followers, 3 favorites, no reviews. The title had been changed from "The Path to Eden"._

* * *

 _Part I - Unexpected Dawn_

 _"The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way."_

 ** _Angel's Trumpet_**

.~*~.

Over the years, man had tried to make his life easier. He has created instruments and machinery to help himself with the daily burdens of his life. He has searched for ways to make his work easier, without thinking of the consequences. He has turned the earth inside-out in search of minerals, crystals, coal, and precious metals. He has cut down forests so that he can seed the rich land with his preferred plants; those he found more useful than the spontaneous ones. He has burned and crushed the surface of the land, forcing the animals into hiding. He has claimed the rivers, the lakes, the seas, and the ocean's depths. He has conquered the winds and the clouds. In doing so he has declared ownership over life.

In his mindless greed, he has left a wild paradise for dead. He has crossed oceans and discovered new lands with only the thought of exploiting anything he could. He has slaughtered his own for insignificant reasons... He has robbed the land and sea of their riches and life; consuming and infecting everything in his way.

What could be expected from a race so greedy, capable of carrying out genocide and slavery? What could I expect from the man who would take the life of his brother for papers printed with numbers and faces that won't be of actual use to him? Could I expect him to pity another life in agony? The most intelligent of beings have fallen into the trap of playing God. Fake gods of greed and vanity have climbed their way to imaginary thrones; proclaiming themselves rulers, emperors, dictators.

And the rest of men? They have allowed it. The common man is just as guilty for his ignorance; for his passivity in face of injustice. They have lost faith in the Great Spirits and ignored the voice of the Earth. They have denied the guidance of their ancestors and the cries of the Earth. Instead, they allowed themselves to believe in the lies and illusions they were sold to. They accepted working day and night; neglecting their children and their parents. Thereby, they sell themselves to the rich. They have allowed themselves to despair and fall into poverty and sadness while the greedy lose count of their money.

The children grew and inherited the frustrations of their parents. They are all the same. They were taught to do the same, so they will live and die the same - as slaves of the rich. They fear nature and the spirits of their ancestors because they cannot understand the ways of the spirit. They believe them all to be demons or illusions.

Some agree that there were better times. A few of them understand that this is wrong, but refute the power they have to make a change. They look back at notes and inscriptions of the past. They know that the Earth was more generous and healthier ages ago, but they are convinced there is no way of returning to that state. It is those men that sadden me the most.

Out of all the eras that I've seen and all the generations that I've encountered, it is this one that has disappointed me the most. Fear, pain, and the denial of love have never been as acute in the hearts of men as they are now. It is not only their loss of faith in spirits and shamans, but also the way they have labeled shamans as insane. They have misunderstood the doings of a shaman and begun to fear us. Fear is perhaps the worst sin of humanity... It is what makes people murder. It is what makes them destroy what they cannot understand. The most regretted moments of life is when one is on their deathbed realizing that fear had once conquered their heart. Fear that influenced them to do something they knew was wrong or to remain a bystander when they knew they should have intervened.

Pain is another demon of humanity as it is capable of slowly poisoning the heart and clouding judgment. It holds man back from moving on. It stops men from forgiving one another, and it makes them deny love and compassion. Pain usually holds hands with Fear and distorts the picture of man has about himself and the world around him.

What I have shamefully allowed myself to forget in the course of time is that the greedy are only a small group of humanity and they are the ones who most often inflict pain and use fear to control the masses. It is them who have started this movement from harmony to chaos and have deprived men of faith in the Great Spirits. It is them who have clouded the hearts and enslaved the minds of the people. More often than not, these people, lacking the guidance of spirits and distrusting shamans, have had no way of anticipating the effects of these fake rulers.

Perhaps... Perhaps I have fallen into the same trap. Perhaps I have allowed illusions to become part of my reality, orchestrated by Pain above all. Because, in the end, a shaman is only a gifted human, is he not? And my gift, or maybe my curse, has only shown me the momentary thoughts of those around me, but not the reasons fueling their rage and ungratefulness. Most of the time, men are not even aware of the reasons behind their misery, so they cannot see any way out. In the modern language, they become depressed... And, perhaps, there is a chance we were all victims of one another.

Thinking back, I wish I could have known the saying of an old spiritual soldier and peaceful leader that had left the world wondering about their ways. "An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind," he said. Thinking back, I would have done so many things differently... Perhaps it is not too late to heal the pain that I've caused. Perhaps there is a way to change man into accepting the consequences of their doing and a way to try to balance their wrongs with kindness, forgiveness, and compassion because how else are we ever going to return to innocence?

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_

 _"The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way." - Charlie Chaplin, The Great Dictator's Speech_

 _"An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind." - Mahatma Gandhi_

 _Angel's Trumpet , also known as brugmansia, is a heat-loving tropical annual shrub or small tree native to South America with large, trumpet shaped flowers that come in white, pink, orange or yellow and hang down from their branches. The flowers have a very pleasant fragrance that is strongest at night. All parts of the plant are poisonous if ingested and can be used in preparing scopolamine. Traditionally, the plant has been used as a hallucinogen and to induce euphoria. It has also been used in traditional herbal medicine to treat skin irritations, arthritis, headaches and rheumatism. Even in small quantities, the plant can be deadly to both humans and animals._

 _As part of the herbal theme, the narrating character or the character whose perspective is presented each chapter will be announced by a plant. The description of the plant is what will help you identify the character, based on similarities._

 _For example, Angel's Trumpet has a beautiful name that inspires peace, but is actually poisonous - a contradiction that's meant to show you a character that could seem good at first, but prove to be a very dangerous companion. A strong plant for a strong character, it can be used for good (as medicine), or evil (as poison), depending on the context. The colors of this plant's flowers are warm, closer to the colors of fire. Also, the plant loves heat - the second piece of information pointing towards the element of fire. Since the plant can induce euphoria and hallucinations, it is representing a shaman. The answer should be obvious by now - Angel's Trumpet represents Hao Asakura._

 _From now on, you can guess the future perspectives and leave a review with your guesses. The first to guess right a perspective can ask for a favor (a certain plot twist, a certain ship you would like, or even promoting your own story). Guess three in a row and you can ask for a one-shot._

 _Important: If you know the artist who created the picture used as the cover of this story, please let me know and I will credit them!_


	2. Day 01 - The Heat Wave

_Day 01 - The Heat Wave_

* * *

 **Gardenia**

Last summer, there were two Native American men selling souvenirs, amulets and jewelry in the central square. I stopped for a few minutes and sat with them, asking if they made what they were selling, or if the amulets had any real power. They had several small animal spirits around them, more suspicious of me then the two of them combined. I could see it from afar that they were shamans, but because I did not show any reaction to their spirits and I had no guardian ghost back then, I doubt they knew that I had the potential to become one.

This summer, in the heat of August, I went with my parents to the south-west of the United States. They were both medics, dedicating their life to research. My father was a surgeon, but more interested in strange diseases that appeared out of the blue, while my mother tried to find a cure for the incurable. Two weeks ago, they heard news of some unexplained wave of light and heat that made hundreds of victims.

Some thought it was because of a meteor, but none had crushed into the desert recently. The official news in the media spoke of a secret military experiment involving a new type of bomb, but the military denied being involved. Whichever the case, hundreds of people were now suffering from severe burns, anxiety, and delusions. In their panic attacks, they spoke of the apocalypse and of souls burning in an earthly version of hell, judged by a superhuman.

Nobody could explain why they were all having similar hallucinations. Even worse – their wounds were barely healing at all, much slower than normal. Many contacted infections, barely struggling to live another day. It was painful to even look at them. They were in such a pitiful state, it brought tears to my eyes. All seemed damned, except for one.

It was his second week in the hospital and he was making remarkable progress. After every surgery, his wounds kept healing faster than normal. It was strange - definitely not normal, but this was exactly why he caught my interest. I kept visiting him every day, growing a little impatient and waiting for him to open up his eyes.

Aside from the burns, he had a very deep cut from the top of his head to his lower abdomen. Somehow, it cracked his skull, but did not damage the brain. The stern had been broken along with two ribs, but it didn't pierce any of the lungs. His vital organs were intact and the burns seemed almost completely healed now. I walked into his room quietly, with my hair tied back. Whether I liked it or not, it was still a hospital and I couldn't have my hair flying around.

I sat by his bed and watched him for a long moment. "I wonder what's your story…" I sighed. He had a beautiful face and a strong heart. "Sometimes, I think you were hit by that heat wave by accident; you seem so out of place here. The others are Native Americans or Hispanics, but your face is kind of Asian, kind of tan, kind of… I don't know." It made no sense, so I laughed quietly to myself.

My eyes widened when I saw his mouth moving, slowly curling into a weak smile. For a moment, I sat there frozen – I had no idea if I should say or do anything. He didn't seem awake yet, so there was probably no reason to call a doctor, but then… I looked at him again and he seemed just like before, disappointed and bitter over something. I sighed.

"…Whatever got you in this state must have been pretty awful," I continued to myself. "But you're doing well now. Actually, you're doing much better than anyone else here. Sometimes I think that maybe you don't want to wake up, that maybe you've given up, or let yourself become numb, but I don't believe that's the case just yet. After all, the gods must have given you a second chance."

His chest raised and fell as he sighed heavily. I watched him in amazement as his eyes barely opened and he frowned, probably because of the artificial light. "…They should've… let this body die," he mumbled, his voice hoarse and weak.

"I doubt it. You know, my father performs many surgeries, he's one of the most renowned doctors in Europe, and he'd seen many grave cases. He brought a few back to life, convincing their souls to return and keeping the body alive until then. He's not a shaman or a monk, he can't even see the miracles he's done, but whenever someone tries to give him credit for it, he shrugs it off. He says that in the surgery room, when the body is closer to death than it's ever been, the will to live of the patient is the only reason he succeeds. He says that as long as people wish to keep living, as long as they feel they have one more thing to do before they pass, they will keep fighting."

Closing his eyes, the corner of his mouth raised slightly in a half-smirk. "How can an ordinary man do what you've said…? To bring back a soul? …I know a necromant, but he's a shaman and uses… his lover's skeleton as a medium."

I tried not to, but I still laughed a little when I heard. "It has nothing to do with necromancy. He prays and asks the soul to return. He mentions their loved ones, their occupation in life, all the while working to restart the heart or to stop strong hemorrhages that can threaten someone's life. You see, the gift of spirit awareness is rare in our family these days, but the philosophy has been treasured for generations."

"It makes no sense," he tried to argue. "Ordinary men are far from… Nature, from spirituality. They don't believe, they can't feel… They don't pray. They're hopeless little creatures, playing god. All they do is spoil… destroy, claim, exploit!" When he tried to stand, I pushed him back down by the shoulders. "I need to leave, let me go!"

"You can't." Sighing, I took the covers off his chest and abdomen so he could see the tubes and the wires. "At least not for another couple of days. What's all the rush, if you say you wanted to die?"

When he didn't answer, I stood up and turned to leave. "I will go inform my father that you've been awake for some time, only pretending not to be."

As I reached the door, I heard him cough. "Wait… I need to know a few things."

I didn't want to, but I returned anyway. Sighing, I sat back on the chair beside his bed. "Isn't your throat sore? You've had a tube until early this morning. You shouldn't talk much today."

He shook his head like a stubborn child. "My answers are more important. For how long had I been here? What happened?"

"Well… from what I've heard, you were found in the desert by a couple training for a marathon that will be held next month. They called for an ambulance and you were brought here more dead than alive. That was thirteen days ago, three days after the 'fire wave', as the news call it. What's the last thing you remember?" As I spoke, I saw him frowning in confusion.

"I… lost a fight. Are you a shaman?" he asked in return.

"I'd rather consider myself a medium. I've inherited the gift of spirit awareness, but I have no interest in fighting. I'd rather serve my purpose by helping man communicate with Nature and with the unseen, without intervening in any other way." I was expecting him to try and shame me for my choice, saying that I am wasting my time or not serving my purpose. It wouldn't have been the first time, but he didn't. Or at least, he didn't say it aloud.

"Then you know about the tournament…" When I nodded, he went on. "It was the final round of the tournament. I fought against my little brother to become the next Shaman King… And I lost." The bitterness in his voice echoed through my mind. At the same time, the truth had been revealed to me so fast, I wanted to draw back.

"…So the reason why so many people are dying slowly, hallucinating and in excruciating pain… was the Spirit of Fire?"

His eyes widened in shock. "What…?!"

"There are over three hundred people burned by some inexplicable wave of light and heat. Their bodies are open wounds, inside-out. Some have no skin left - they're living, blistering wounds. They scream in pain from as much as a light breeze, catching infections and barely reacting to medication. Many had breathed in the heat and they're impossible to save now. They have no eye lids, their eyes are drying in their sockets. They see flames all around them, they see demonic figures of 'solid fire' and they beg for forgiveness… And you are the one who caused this! You're right, we should have left you for dead."

I sat up and walked out. I couldn't stand to look at him, with his shocked expression and confused frown. It wasn't the right thing to do. Clearly, if the gods had given him a second chance, I had to do the same and allow him to find a way to fix his mistakes, but I couldn't help him when I was mad at him. I was angry and I blamed him, not for what I knew from my grandfather about the great shaman who stole the Spirit of Fire, but because of what he's done. It was an infernal state in which he had brought hundreds of innocent people and my human ego was judging him harshly.

"Astrid?" my father called as I passed him by, rushing out of the hospital.

"Sorry!" I said over my shoulder as I made my way out. I ran past the house where the foreigners were staying and didn't stop until I reached an old mesquite that had spread its branches over the entire yard. There were the hospital and two dorms surrounding it and over twenty stray cats napping between its branches.

From the first day I arrived here with my parents, I admired this tree and the many twists and curves of its branches. Some of them were lifted off the ground on metal two-teethed forks enough for people to walk underneath them. I climbed high enough so I won't be easily seen from the ground and found a place where its branches were thick and smooth enough. Stopping there, I laid back and sat as if in some strangely shaped armchair. The sky was beautiful through its many small leaves and I could see tiny birds nesting every here and there. It still had a couple of flowers just blooming, while others were withering and falling to the ground.

"…What an atrocity this tournament is," I mumbled to myself as I felt my anger fading with each breath. Sighing, I leaned back against the branch I chose and untied my hair. I let it hang freely, like I would have always worn it, if it wasn't for the hospital norms.

As I listened to the wind, I began to recall my grandfather's stories about the shaman who stole the Spirit of Fire… "And all of that hard work and effort, all of that pain, for the sake of this atrocity. Why on earth should anyone think that spirits can be owned or won in battle, sold like objects and controlled that way?"

 **Angel's Trumpet**

Slowly, I began to feel again, but my body was barely recognizable. My legs were numb… or rather, my entire body was a little numb, but not in a natural way. I tried to focus on the present moment and become aware, but I couldn't explain myself why my insides felt different. My stomach felt odd, there was something between my intestines, I felt long, thin strings tickling my skin as I tried to raise my chest and breathe, and the air felt like a breath of sand-sized blades.

On a more positive note, the taste of blood was gone from my mouth, and I could tell I was lying on a mattress. It seemed, somebody had found me and took me in.

Suddenly, I began to remember the desert and the horrible heat of the sun at noon. I recalled the harshness of the wind and the thirst that had tortured me constantly. Was this all just a hallucination? Was this the last my mind was capable of imagining, as I was dying ever so slowly? Perhaps what I felt strange about my physical body was really just the process of dying, or perhaps some animal had found me and thought I had already died.

However, as my senses were returning gradually, I heard a door opening and closing immediately. A girl came in and I couldn't tell if she was an ordinary human being, or if she was a shaman. Perhaps it was the artificial numbness that had blocked my non-physical senses as well, but for once, I couldn't tell.

For a short time, we talked and I found the strength to look around and ask about what happened. She showed me tubes and wires coming out of my body – that explained what my body didn't recognize.

However, nothing in this world could have prepared me for what I've heard… 'Their bodies are open wounds, inside-out. Some have no skin left - they're living, blistering wounds. They scream in pain…' She may have left in a rush, but her words were echoing in my head. Was that… my doing? 'They have no eye lids, their eyes are drying in their sockets,' she said. Could it be true? Three hundred people…

I tried to listen to the thoughts of those nearby. Even though I was alone in that white room, I knew there were people all around – in other individual rooms, or passing through a hallway, I assumed. My mind was tired, but I was able to hear their minds. They were nurses, running from one end to the other of the hospital to supply others with what they needed. One was trying not to cry, running to call a doctor. A child was dying and she couldn't start his heart again. It would be the tenth child dying in her hands and the grief and misery I felt from her was beyond what I expected from an ordinary woman.

Another was glad that a woman seemed to be doing better, but her mind changed completely the second she saw the first nurse. It was an overwhelming level of empathy and understanding – they felt the pain of others, even without any spiritual abilities developing. It was odd… During all the years I'd spent listening to the thoughts of people, I'd never encountered such… purity, almost? What was the word for this? For once, money or their own needs were completely absent from their minds. Selfishness seemed like something made-up, some fading image of a bad dream.

At sunset, a man walked in with a nurse. He was tall, with fair hair cut short, frowning at some papers. "Hello. How are you feeling?" he asked, but his mind was still riddled with grief. The child had died. "Sorry I didn't attend to you earlier." When he looked up, I saw his green eyes covered in red veins and surrounded by dark circles. His cheeks were a little hallow and he had a small, permanent frown.

"Thirsty," I answered honestly. "What are these coming out of me? My body doesn't recognize these. It bothers me."

"Don't touch anything. I see you're doing much better. Can you feel all of your limbs?" He asked, and I nodded. "Are you in pain, or nauseous?"

"No." Before I could ask when could I leave, he asked another question.

"Can you recall what happened?" This time, I hesitated. He was a mere mortal after all, and the shaman tournament was not to be known by ordinary people. I shook my head. "Do you see anything out of place here?" Again, I replied negatively. "Alright. I hope to see you tomorrow, then."

At the door, another nurse was waiting to talk to the man. "It's the man in room 71. Please, come see."

They left, but the woman stayed. She shamelessly threw off my covers entirely and put some cold, reddish liquid on a cloth, then applied it all over the cuts and around the tubes. "It will sting a little." But that 'a little' became hell of a lot when she touched a burn with it. The wound wasn't deep at all, but that substance made it hurt as if it was.

'They're living, blistering wounds,' the girl's voice rang in my ears. It was such a small wound the woman had touched and it made me clench my teeth. Thinking back, my deaths were quite fast. I couldn't remember them in great detail, but I don't think I'd been agonizing on my deathbed before.

"Alright, that looks better!" She forced a smile and covered me again. 'At least one will leave this place alive…' she continued in her mind as she blinked away tears.

"You're crying," I began, "Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing!" she smiled brighter and quickly dried her eyes with her hand. "I'm just tired, don't worry. Do you remember your name?" she immediately changed the subject.

"Zeke," I answered.

Her eyes lit up instantly. "You mean, Ezekiel? Then, it's no wonder you've survived." Her mind continued her answer, unaware that I've heard. 'God strengthens, indeed.'

I frowned a little. "No, Zeke. That's my name, Zeke."

"Yes, that's your nickname. It's probably how people called you, right? But it's short for Ezekiel. You'll probably remember more with time…"

Before I could say anything, she was already leaving. Someone was calling her, and her name was Maria. "Coming!" she said towards the corridor. "I'll come back later." With that, she was gone…

After a while, I saw the daylight fading. It must have been around noon when I first came to my senses. The constant noise all around the building didn't show any sign of stopping. It was probably going to be the same way through the night, too… That was the first time it really hit me, and it hit me so hard, I couldn't deny it anymore. Some people really care about each other. Some people didn't sleep for days and barely had the time to eat or drink some water, dedicating their time to others entirely.

For the first time, I didn't catch any thought of an ordinary person involving themselves, their own benefit or money. Four others had died, but one was kept alive and for them, it was a priceless victory. The doctors and the nurses barely had time to rejoice – they were constantly needed. I would have never imagined that common man was capable of such noble thoughts.

The room had slowly fallen into darkness, but Maria didn't return. She was too busy to sit and chat with me – I was feeling well, after all. There was nothing I needed as desperately as others. The girl from before didn't come back either. I waited for a long while, but then I understood she won't show herself again. Not that day, at least… and probably not the next, either.

I sighed. There wasn't much I could do, other than waiting for this body to heal and the doctors to allow me to move. I tried to sleep, well aware it will help the regeneration process.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_

 _Thank you, **JThistle,** for your review. It drew my attention back on this story after a long time. _

_Because I don't have a beta for this story yet, please help me by pointing out any mistake I missed. Also, if you know a free beta who may be interested in my story, please tell them to message me. I'm not a native speaker and so, a beta reader's help is always welcome._


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